"If the mind is to emerge unscathed from this relentless struggle with the unforeseen, two qualities are indispensable: first, an intellect that, even in the darkest hour, retains some glimmerings of the inner light which leads to truth; and second, the courage to follow this faint light wherever it may lead."
~ Carl von Clausewitz.

Friday, November 28, 2014

“When
the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack
survives.”

As my phone display flickers for a moment, the banner
notifies the first of many messages that find their way into my Whatsapp.
Neither the likes of forwarded messages nor brain-wrecking “IAS” questions.
Surprisingly, it’s the roll-call of group members preparing for a weekly rendezvous
at a sparsely populated ground. 6 am is never too early for the Weekenders.

In the summer of 2013, I felt unfit for the first time in
my entire life. I had enrolled for a 5k run and left it mid-way, huffing and
puffing. Since my wedding in late 2011, I had been cruising on the path of
gluttony with no barriers holding me back. My waistline seemed to enjoy this
unprecedented stroke of prosperity and a youthful exuberance seemed to give way
to middle-aged maturity. On one of my weekend travails supporting Arsenal, I
ran into this group of passionate youngsters (well, a large majority of them)
who called themselves Bangalore Gunners. Together, we cheered and jeered
Arsenal and their opponents over the course of 90 minutes.

“Soccer
isn't very social. Plus, if you don't like someone on the other team, you can
do something about it.” ~ Mia Hamm

A week later, my beleaguered efforts to
exercise found a cue; the Bangalore Gunners met every Saturday & Sunday to
play football at a nearby school ground. I dusted the old soccer studs, wore my
favourite jersey at dawn-break and made my way to the location. Sport doesn’t
need introduction and the group of football players graciously invited me to
join the game. A large chunk of them were college students in their early
twenties and the rest of us made the numbers.

Over the last 18 months (in football-ing
terms, three transfer seasons), this fraternity has been part of my everyday
life. The Whatsapp group remains active through day & night (especially
Champions League nights) and we discuss, debate, mock and jest various
happenings in the world of football. Although majority of us support Arsenal,
we do have representatives of ManWho, ManShitty & Chelshit in our ranks.
Pre-game and post-game discussions are held at length and every player/manager
across European leagues is put to sword.

As Friday evenings come to a close, the
million dollar question arises.

Who’s in for tomorrow and (most
importantly) who has the ball?

The responses come through the night and
based on numbers we decide to go ahead or forfeit the game. As the sun seeps through the trees, we complete our stretches and kick the ball around. The better weeks
have at least 25-30 players while the scarce weeks might result in 8-10. Like
Robin Hood and his Merry men, our uncompromising motto remained, “the more, the
merrier.” The games last for at least a couple of hours and are highly
competitive. At the end of the game, we meet at the nearby juice shop to fill our thirst and lighten our spirits. The single takeaway from playing with this lot has been about enjoying the game. It’s never been about victory or defeat. Just beautiful
football.

Our friendship has been held taut by a
single bond, the love of the game. A few of the players have been the best that
I’ve ever seen in my entire life and it’s been a great experience to learn from
them. It’s quite a pity that the talent pool available in India goes untapped
since there is no concrete future for skilled youngsters who play the game.

3 weeks back, with my travel imminent, I
went out to play expecting it to be my last outing for a while. I could have
never been more right in my life. With a lobbed ball dipping towards me, I
lifted my knee to receive it. As my foot touched the ground, I felt my knee
give way to a horrifying pop. I knew it was something bad, but the extent of damage
wasn’t clear then. A couple of days later, the doctor’s prognosis unearthed my
deepest fears. A Grade III ACL (The
anterior cruciate ligament is an important, internal, stabilizer of the knee
joint, restraining hyperextension. It is injured when its biomechanical limits
are exceeded (over stretched), often with a hyperextension mechanism).
In short, my chances of ever playing football are remote, bordering on
unlikely. It would be wise to divert my attention to equally challenging sports
such as chess and carom.

I replayed the fateful moment a thousand
times over in my head while everyone chastised me for being ignorant to the perils
of physical sport. But I never regret the fact that it was football, over the
last year, that brought a youthful spring in my step, turning back time. I had
felt myself grow lighter and younger in the company of the weekenders. The cast of colourful characters Zaba, Suharez, LCB, Periods & Bondage (the last two remain unverified on wikipedia) and a lot others will remain engulfed in my memory every time I see a group of kids playing football.

It's a Friday and as this post comes to life, the group
comes alive.

Another weekend, another dawn.

“but the world is one great web, and a man dare
not touch a single strand lest of all the others"

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About Me

"There is a legend about a bird that sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth. From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree and does not rest until it has found one. Then, singing among the savage branches, it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine. Dying, it rises above its own agony to out-carol the lark and the nightingale. One superlative song, existence the price. But the whole world stills to listen, and God in His heaven smiles. For the best is only bought at the cost of the great pain. … Or so says the legend." ~ Colleen McCullough